Akira Stone's Arc

Chapter 10 of 10

Akira stood by the fire in her linen underthings and did not step back. Jasper had crossed the cabin like a man walking through water. He stopped an arm's length away. The fire cracked between them. Outside, his sister's boots faded off the porch and the woods took her sound. "It's me," Akira said. He searched her face. His jaw worked once. "The pull. I've had it since I was seventeen." "I know what a mate pull is." "Then you know what this is." She did. She had felt it drop the moment he walked in — a hook set behind her ribs, tugging toward him. It was not soft. It was not gentle. It was the same steady weight she had walked into this forest looking for, and it had a face now. She made herself breathe evenly. She had come here for an alpha who would not need managing. The pull did not care what she wanted. But he was standing very still, waiting for her to speak first, and that told her more than the pull did. "Say it plain," she said. "You're my mate." He did not move closer. "I've been walking toward you for eleven years." Her throat tightened. She thought of the bargain with his sister. The two options on the table. The pack waiting on a decision that was supposed to be about bloodlines and healing and hybrid children. This changed the shape of all of it. "Your sister doesn't know," she said. "No." "She will." "Yes." She reached for the tunic on the chair and pulled it over her head. Damp linen clung to her ribs. She needed cloth between them for what came next. She turned back to him and folded her arms. "I won't be claimed to solve your pack's problem," she said. "Not tonight. Not because a scent walked through your door." "I'm not asking." "Then what are you doing?" "Telling you." His voice stayed low. "So you know why I've been standing between you and every knife in this territory." That landed. She had wondered. Now she did not have to. She stepped forward once, closing half the distance, and put her hand flat on his chest. His heart hit her palm hard and fast. Her own answered it. She let him feel that for a breath, then dropped her hand. "Then we do it in daylight," she said. "With your sister at the table. No claim, no promise, until she hears it from both of us." "Agreed." "And you sleep on the floor tonight." A short breath left him — almost a laugh. "Agreed." She sat down by the hearth and picked up her satchel to keep her hands busy. He lowered himself against the far wall and watched the fire. The pull did not ease. But it had a name now, and a rule, and a morning to answer to.